VII. The Pointing of Duty

           AnneleanedbackinherchaironemildOctobereveningandsighed.Shewassittingatatablecoveredwithtextbooksandexercises,butthecloselywrittensheetsofpaperbeforeherhadnoapparentconnectionwithstudiesorschoolwork.

           “Whatisthematter?”askedGilbert,whohadarrivedattheopenkitchendoorjustintimetohearthesigh.

           Annecolored,andthrustherwritingoutofsightundersomeschoolcompositions.

           “Nothingverydreadful.Iwasjusttryingtowriteoutsomeofmythoughts,asProfessorHamiltonadvisedme,butIcouldn’tgetthemtopleaseme.Theyseemsostillandfoolishdirectlythey’rewrittendownonwhitepaperwithblackink.Fanciesarelikeshadows...youcan’tcagethem,they’resuchwayward,dancingthings.ButperhapsI’lllearnthesecretsomedayifIkeepontrying.Ihaven’tagreatmanysparemoments,youknow.BythetimeIfinishcorrectingschoolexercisesandcompositions,Idon’talwaysfeellikewritinganyofmyown.”

           “Youaregettingonsplendidlyinschool,Anne.Allthechildrenlikeyou,”saidGilbert,sittingdownonthestonestep.

           “No,notall.AnthonyPyedoesn’tandWON’Tlikeme.Whatisworse,hedoesn’trespectme...no,hedoesn’t.HesimplyholdsmeincontemptandIdon’tmindconfessingtoyouthatitworriesmemiserably.Itisn’tthatheissoverybad...heisonlyrathermischievous,butnoworsethansomeoftheothers.Heseldomdisobeysme;butheobeyswithascornfulairoftolerationasifitwasn’tworthwhiledisputingthepointorhewould...andithasabadeffectontheothers.